The Five Stages of Having the Flu
by RatherBeAWriter
Summary: Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Emily isn't very good at feeling sick. But she's bound to reach acceptance. With a little help from a friend. One-shot.


**A/N: ****Started as a drabble that popped into my head when I should have been focussed on other things but sort of grew when I had time to write. Also turned into a sort of pre-romance because I've really started shipping Hotch/Prentiss. **

**Set sometime before the Doyle storyline.**

**Hope you like it and please let me know what you think :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Criminal Minds.**

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There were five stages of grief. That was a well accepted fact of human psychology. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. But Emily found that those five phases applied to more than just impending or actual death. She experienced them, in one form or another in rather inane situations. It was part of the routine she went through when faced with the prospect of a meal with her mother or a meeting that she just didn't want to attend. And on the coldest days of winter, as she tried to force herself from the warmth of her bed, she found herself coming full circle in the time it took the snooze function of her alarm to remind her she really had no choice.

But if there was any one time that Emily was guaranteed to find herself mimicking the stages of grief, it was when she felt the signs that she was falling sick.

Because Emily Prentiss just didn't do being sick.

**Monday, 9:06 AM**

The look Hotch threw her as she rushed into the conference room said the words that his lips resisted the temptation to express.

"Late night?" Morgan smirked, showing a distinct lack of tact in comparison to their boss.

Emily glowered at him, taking her seat and hoping Hotch wasn't going to make a big deal of her tardiness. It had not been a good morning so far.

"You okay?" JJ mouthed across the table, a hint of concern evident in her eyes as she studied her friend's flustered appearance.

She nodded, smoothing a wayward strand of dark hair from her face and trying to ignore the unhealthy warmth which radiated from her own flesh. She reasoned that she had just ran from her car to the office, and that they always cranked the heating up full in this place, so really it was no wonder her temperature was slightly raised.

About ten minutes into the meeting she slipped her arms out of her jacket and tried to slide it onto the back of her chair without making too much of a fuss. She'd been disruptive enough for one morning. Then after a brief moment of relief, she found herself pouring a glass of water, just so she could press it against the insides of her wrists, in the hope it might have a cooling effect. But whatever it was doing, it didn't prevent her shirt sticking to her perspiration coated back. How was it that she was the only one struggling with the heat?

"Aren't you a bit young for hot flushes?"Morgan teased with a grin, causing Emily's face to turn a deeper shade of red as she realised the others were watching her while she absent mindedly fanned herself with a sheet of paper.

"Actually, the menopause can..."

"Reid!" Emily and JJ snapped in unison, causing the young genius to promptly close his mouth.

"I wouldn't finish that sentence, kid," Rossi advised wisely.

Hotch sat even straighter in his chair and glanced from one team member to another, with a stern and exasperated expression. They were getting no where with this briefing. Emily was late and distracted. Morgan only wanted to crack jokes. Reid... Well, for someone with such a high level of intelligence it didn't take much to send his thoughts off track.

"Maybe we should get back to the case," JJ suggested, though her eyes lingered on Emily. Something was definitely wrong. "That's if you're really okay, Emily?" she questioned.

"I'm fine," she insisted, taking a small sip of water and trying to direct it over the side of her throat which felt oddly scratchy. "Sorry guys. What were you saying about the disposal sites, Hotch?"

With the attention directed back towards him, the unit chief studied his subordinate for a split second longer before answering her question. But he made a mental note to corner her as soon as he had the opportunity. He didn't believe for a moment that there was nothing wrong.

That opportunity to speak to Emily alone first arose as the team divided up their tasks and prepared to get to work.

"Prentiss, what's going on?" he asked, taking her aside before she could file out of the room after anyone else.

She feigned a look of confusion and shrugged.

"My alarm didn't go off, my car wouldn't start - it's just been one of those mornings," she replied nonchalantly. "I'm really sorry and I'll try not to let it happen again."

He frowned, having real difficulty in accepting her explanation as the truth.

She maintained her best poker face as he studied her. In truth, she'd been late because she'd slept straight through her alarm and then struggled to find the energy to get out of bed, shower and get into her car. Her limbs felt weighed down by her exhaustion, and even now the sensation lingered. The traffic she'd hit, as a result of the late start, had just been the icing on the cake.

"Can I get back to work?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Hotch wanted to press further into what was going on but decided better of it. It would be easier to keep an eye on her if she wasn't being too defensive.

"Of course," he responded. "Just..." He struggled for a tactful way to say what he was thinking as he looked closely at her glassy eyes and dull skin. "Try and get some rest tonight. You seem tired."

"Gee, thanks," she murmured with a laugh. "Way to compliment a girl!"

"Prentiss," he warned, making it clear he hadn't been joking or trying to tease her.

"I'll have an early night," she promised, leaving the office, but as he watched her walk away he was far from reassured that she was okay.

Once at her desk, she took a large swig of water from the bottle she'd thrown into her bag. No matter how much she drank, one side of her throat still felt like she'd spent the previous night screaming at a concert rather than finishing off reports. Maybe Hotch was right and she was just really tired. If her appearance gave it away then it would most likely account for her feeling a little off. They'd been working a lot of long hours recently and it had been a while since she got some real sleep.

As she opted to make some tea, in the hope that hot liquids may have a more soothing effect than the cold water, she forced her mind to settle on the explanation that she was simply tired. She assured herself that if she kept her promise to Hotch then she'd be absolutely fine by the next day. There was nothing else to worry about.

And in that single direction of thought, she slipped entirely into the midsts of denial.

**Monday, 6:54 PM**

Tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap,

"Reid, will you cut it out?" Emily's voice exploded against the relative quiet of the bullpen.

Spencer dropped his pen, his startled expression mirroring that of a deer caught in the headlights of a ten tonne truck. He hadn't even noticed he'd been drumming it on the desk until she shouted.

"Sorry," he told her, pushing the pen out of his reach so he wouldn't be tempted to pick it up again, and returned to skimming over the police records and witness statements in front of him.

Emily sighed, knowing that her outburst had been completely out of order. It seemed that there was an inverse correlation between the pounding in her temples and her level of patience. To say the latter was dwindling was an understatement.

"I'm sorry, Reid," she apologised. "I shouldn't have snapped."

A momentary, accepting smile flickered across his lips as he nodded.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I have a bit of a headache," she responded, offering at least some explanation for her short temper.

He nodded again, knowing only too well how a headache could impact on someone's mood.

"Have you taken anything for it?" he enquired.

She shook her head. At lunchtime she'd been about to take a couple of Tylenol to address her throat, which had made the transition from scratchy to painful, but had discovered only two tablets remained in the packet she kept in her bag. She'd quickly made the decision to save them until they were really needed. Was that now?

Her frustrations extended not only to the rather trivial habits of her colleagues but also to her own body, for leaving her barely capable of working. Her desk was covered in discarded mugs which had been filled with tea and honey or coffee. The caffeine only left her jittery and nauseous and the tea only eased the sharp pain in her throat for seconds at a time. The bottom line was that nothing was making her feel better.

Glancing around the room, she noted that no one else was so much as sneezing. Why was she the one who could hardly hold her head up?

"Emily?"

"What?" Her tone was short as she was pulled from her thoughts. "Sorry," she added almost immediately. It wasn't really her colleague that was causing her irritation.

Spencer silently pushed a bottle of painkillers across her desk with a sympathetic glance. She returned a grateful smile and promptly tipped two tablets into her hand. There was no point denying she was unwell - to do so would take more energy than she had.

But that didn't mean she had to accept it. And she didn't have to deal with it graciously.

**Tuesday, 4:19 AM**

She'd fallen asleep on the sofa, after returning from work, and had woken up shivering yet drenched in sweat. Despite her promise to Hotch from earlier in the day, it had been almost midnight before she returned, and her sleep hadn't exactly been restful so far. Psychedelic colours twisted and turned into monsters and warped faces each time she closed her eyes. She suspected her fever was to blame for the nightmares but in her drowsy state she seemed incapable of doing anything to deal with it.

Moments after waking, she was forced upright by a tickle in her throat, which quickly turned into a coughing fit and left her with tears streaming down her face. She leaned back against the pillows which had been supporting her head and pulled the blanket back around her shoulders as she recovered.

If she could just get through the next few days then she could succumb to whatever this was. They just needed a little time to catch this guy, and of course to finish up the paper work, and then she could be sick if she had to be.

Another cough rattled through her chest, shaking her already aching body. Okay, she'd drop the paper work. All she needed was to keep going until the UnSub was safely in custody. She wasn't even that bothered about being in the field. They just had to crack this case.

Sergio stared with a look of alarm, as his owner continued to cough and splutter, before sinking back onto the sofa and groaning. She rolled onto her side, too exhausted to go in search of the painkillers and cough syrup which potentially lurked at the back of the bathroom cabinet. She could make do with the slightly stale glass of water on the coffee table, if only she could get back to sleep.

However, sleep didn't seem to be coming easily. Each time she swallowed, or breathed through her mouth to avoid battling with her stuffy nose, it felt like she was trying to force shards of glass over her throat. Her arm flailed around, searching for the cellphone she knew she must have dropped nearby, and hoping it might provide a distraction. Upon finding the phone she discovered there was one message waiting.

_**I hope you're resting. Take tomorrow if you need it. Hotch**_

Simple and to the point. She wouldn't have expected anything else. But it still brought the trace of a smile to the corners of her mouth.

At least it did until she found herself sneezing five times in a row and then reaching for her head with yet another groan. She'd even see a doctor if her body waited a couple more days before continuing its assault. She'd go to her bed and stay there and not even complain. All she wanted was chance to do her job first. Was a little time to get things in order too much to ask for?

She coughed again, only just stopping herself throwing up as she gagged and gasped for air. Sergio skulked away, hiding himself at the other side of the room as she gave up on lying down and flicked the TV onto a late night re-run of a show she was sure she hadn't seen since college. She took a sip of water and winced at the pain which swallowing brought about.

Bargaining with her own immune system really wasn't going well.

**Tuesday, 8:23 AM **

"Emily, what are you doing here?" JJ asked, striding over to her friend's desk. The brunette looked utterly miserable, and her chalky palour only served to accentuate the dark circles around her eyes.

"I work here," she muttered sarcastically.

"And you are entitled to sick days," the blonde reminded her with a worried frown. She was struggling not to mother her friend and drag her straight back home.

"I'll be fine," Emily insisted. "Or at least I'll die surrounded by my friends rather than my cat!" she added, sarcastically.

JJ remained unconvinced by the other woman's attempt at a joke, but continued on to her office. Maybe Emily would feel better if she wasn't being constantly reminded that she was ill.

By the time Hotch arrived, ten minutes later, Emily looked even more unhappy. He watched her from the other side of the room as she coughed and sneezed and sniffed. He'd known she was coming down with something the day before, and now there was no way she could hide it. He'd hoped, though he knew it was mostly in vain, that his text message might give her the push she needed to stay at home. But of course she was too stubborn for that.

Trying to remind himself that she was a colleague and an adult, and that as long as she wasn't putting herself or anyone else at risk, she was entitled to do as she wanted in respect of her health, he continued to the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. Almost immediately he noticed that her usual mug remained in the cupboard from the previous day. There would be nothing overly friendly or pushy in making her a cup of tea.

As the kettle boiled he tried to remember which kind of tea it was that she drank when she wasn't pumping her body with caffeine. It was the kind of thing he'd noticed but never thought to commit to memory. There were lots of things he'd noticed about Emily now that he came to think about it.

He poured the hot water over the teabag, trying to snap out of whatever was going on in his head. She was a colleague, and his subordinate at that. That was all. But then again, he didn't think he'd ever worried over making the right kind of tea for Morgan.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked, approaching her desk and trying to get rid of the furrow of concern which was etched across his brow.

"I'm okay," she croaked. It seemed the latest episode of coughing had left her with very little voice.

He hovered by her desk, clutching her mug and feeling oddly awkward. Remembering his reason for being there, he placed the tea in front of her.

"I thought you might want a hot drink," he said, explaining the obvious.

"Thank you," she replied, without even the ghost of a smile. All personality seemed to have drained from her features - she must have been feeling awful.

Not knowing what else to say, he nodded and walked away, instantly wishing that he'd been more forceful and ordered her to go home. She was in no fit state to be at work, but he seemed almost afraid to tell her that. Like it would be crossing some sort of boundary or making something known which he'd rather hide.

SSA Aaron Hotchner was afraid to make an order.

He'd certainly never had that problem with the others.

**Tuesday, 4:44 PM**

Everything hurt. Her head. Her stomach. All her joints. She was slumped across her desk, not even attempting to read the words on the computer screen. The light stung her eyes and made her temples pound. There was no point trying.

"Prentiss," the low voice of her boss called, shortly followed by his hand lightly touching her shoulder.

She turned around, screwing up her tired eyes as she was forced to look in the direction of the harsh lighting which shone down on the bullpen.

"Come on, it's time for you to go home," he instructed. He'd been checking on her from behind the blinds of his office for the past hour and had finally decided enough was enough.

"Hotch, I..." she began to protest, until she swayed on her feet as she tried to stand, and stumbled towards him.

Without a word, he steadied her against his body, grabbing her jacket from her chair and wrapping it around her shoulders. Still protecting her from any risk of losing her balance, he picked up her bag.

"I'm taking you home," he reiterated, in case she hadn't worked that out from his actions.

She nodded, not fighting against the way her body collapsed further into his. At any other time she'd have been embarrassed by the contact, but right now she had to admit that she needed a little support.

And Hotch no longer cared that she was "just a colleague".

**Tuesday, 5:21PM**

It didn't take too long to get Emily into the hallway outside her apartment. She was standing on her own, though she leaned close to the wall as she retrieved her keys from her purse. With her shaky hands, and the sensation that everything around her was moving, opening the door came with the same difficulty as if she'd been drunk. In the end, Hotch reached out, placing his hand over hers and directing the key towards the lock.

"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling her hand away. "I'll be fine from here." The sensation of nausea which had been increasing since the previous day was reaching the stage where she feared any movement would cause her to lose the tea and crackers which lined her stomach. She needed to be alone.

"Just let me get you settled in," he insisted, holding the door and urging her to go inside.

"I'm..." Whatever she was about to say was halted by the simultaneous occurrence of her stomach churning and her throat tickling. Her hand flew to her mouth and she stumbled in the direction of her bathroom as she started to cough.

Hotch closed the door behind him, his worry for his friend increasing at the retching and choking sounds which drifted through the apartment. He glanced around the living room, noticing her make-shift bed from the previous night. He should have come over to check on her; a text definitely hadn't been enough.

Continuing through to the kitchen, he filled a glass with water. He knew Emily wasn't the type to want him holding her hair back or rubbing her back as she vomited - they weren't nearly close enough for that - but he had to do something to help. A pair of pyjamas which were folded at the top of a basket of laundered clothes caught his eye. It surely wouldn't be too much of an intrusion to bring them for her. It wasn't like he'd been rifling through her drawers.

Though the bathroom door was ajar, he still felt the need to knock, and even when she gave no reply, he was hesitant to enter.

"Prentiss?" he called, his hand hovering against the wood of the door.

"Mm okay," came her mumbled and unconvincing reply.

"I'm coming in," he announced, the pyjamas tucked beneath his arm and the glass in his hand. The sense of embarrassment or impropriety, or whatever it was that had stopped him from being of any real help until now, paled in comparison to his concern.

She was leaning against the edge of the bathtub, looking as though she didn't have the strength to get up, and as her eyes met his, he could have sworn he felt physical pain. He didn't need a second longer to take action.

Even if she hadn't known it, the way he took care of her made it clear he was a parent. His routine was far too well rehearsed to not have the experience of looking after someone who was sick. He had her out of her work clothes and into a pair of pyjamas before she could feel awkward that he was seeing her underwear. He got her to swirl water around her mouth, and to take something to reduce her fever and a couple of spoonfuls of cough syrup. Then he placed her toothbrush in her hand and a cool flannel across the back of her neck, sitting her on the edge of the bathtub and keeping a supportive hand on her back.

"Better?" he asked, as he guided her towards the sink and helped her rinse out her mouth once again.

She nodded, unsure if she was even able to speak. Surely in the morning she'd wake up on her sofa, having taken herself home, to find this was all a fevered dream and that Hotch was at Quantico waiting for an update on when she could return to work.

"Let's get you to bed," he told her, wrapping his arm more tightly around her shoulders and stepping slowly out of the bathroom and through to her bedroom. In any other context she'd have laughed at the connotations of his statement.

He sat her down on the bed and pulled back the covers, before sliding her legs inside. Leaning over her as she lay down on the pillows, he pressed his hand to her forehead and frowned.

"Do you normally get high fevers when you're sick?" he asked worriedly. If this was Jack, he'd already have him in his arms and on the way to urgent care.

She nodded drowsily, only just aware of his question.

His cool hand returned to her head and he sighed.

"If the Tylenol doesn't kick in soon, I'm going to phone your doctor." He had no idea who her doctor was, but he had ways of finding it out if necessary. Though he might hold off on a call to Garcia, given the circumstances. Would he be able to convince the technical analyst that his concern for Emily was purely professional? He definitely wasn't convincing himself.

She was now almost certain that she was hallucinating or dreaming, but she could have sworn his hand lingered on her forehead for a second too long after he'd checked her temperature. And he definitely adjusted her pillows and duvet one more time before he stepped away from the bed.

Her eyes fluttered open, searching for his face and trying to read the expression behind his kindness.

"Close your eyes, Emily," he directed,as he paused in the doorway to her bedroom. "I'll check on you soon." Until he was sure there would be no need to phone a doctor, he wasn't leaving her apartment. And if he was being honest with himself, he'd probably stay a little longer than that.

Her body didn't have the strength to fight his instruction and she was drifting off to sleep before he'd even left the room.

She was sick. She was exhausted. She'd just been put to bed by her boss and that was probably something they'd have to talk about in the morning.

But it was okay, because acceptance had finally rolled around.


End file.
